


Why a Child Leaves

by Rosa_Cotton



Series: Why a Child... [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Running Away, Thorongil - Freeform, Young Eowyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/pseuds/Rosa_Cotton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorongil arrives at Edoras, he is astonished to pass young Lady Eowyn, who intends to leave Rohan after having a conversation with two members of her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why a Child Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _The Lord of the Rings _, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J.R.R. Tolkien's estate.__

The courtyard echoes with the sounds of blades clanging against each other, the scuffing of feet on the cobblestone rocks, and the grunts of the two men as each attempts to find an opening of weakness in the other. Unbeknownst to them, they are observed with much interest and excitement by three children from a window above them. 

“I cannot wait to learn to wield a sword,” one boy sighs. 

“You have only three more years of waiting,” consoles his cousin, smiling. 

“I shall be a marshal,” the first decides, nodding firmly. 

“And I will ride by your side!” the other exclaims. 

“But do not forget your other princely duties.” 

“Ah! My studies are so boring. My tutor scolds me for fidgeting and not paying attention, but I cannot help it. I want to be outside, roam the plains, ride Brego, and enjoy dueling with you.” 

Silence hangs in the air as the children return their attention to the circling knights below them. 

“Do you suppose I would be allowed to use a sword?” a third voices muses. 

Both boys burst out laughing. 

“I doubt it, dear sister,” Éomer answers between chuckles. 

Théodred clutches his stomach, laughing still. 

“And why is that?” Éowyn demands, glaring back and forth between her brother and cousin. 

“You are too little and not strong enough,” replies Éomer. 

“I will be when I’m older!” objects the girl, her eyes flashing as her hands ball into fists. 

“Ladies of the royal house do not fight with blades,” Théodred says. “They run the household and do sewing all day. And you will start having dancing lessons soon.” 

“I do not want to learn to dance! I want to learn to fight!” 

The two boys exchange a half-amused, half-wondering look. Just what has piped Éowyn’s interest in sword fighting? 

“There are not many – if any – women who have skill with a blade,” Éomer points out. 

“Father will let me; I know he will,” Éowyn states certainly. 

“And if he does, you may look like a fool to all the men. They would probably not dare challenge you in fear of defeating you quickly. You would not be as strong as they. They might come to disrespect you,” Théodred cautions. 

“Just go play with your dolls, or have Mother brush your hair. Or ask Iris about the slippers she is embroidering for you. That is what you should do,” Éomer orders. Ignoring his sister’s teary glare, he turns to Théodred. “And now, I challenge you, Prince Théodred, to a duel.” 

“I accept, my cousin.” 

“I want—” 

“No!” both boys cut off Éowyn. 

“You have never beaten either of us. But if you want to be defeated again, you can perhaps face the winner of the match.” Éomer tosses the comment over his shoulder before following Théodred from the room. 

Éowyn stands still for a moment, her small body trembling with hurt and anger. Forcibly she kicks off her slippers, satisfied when her kicks cause them to fly across the room and hit the wall. Tossing her head, she marches from the room. 

~~~ 

Thorongil slowly walks alongside his horse as they climb the narrow road leading to Golden Hall of Meduseld. The corners of his mouth turn up as he surveys the familiar surroundings of Rohan. 

He squints in the sunlight as he notices a small figure coming purposely towards him. The curly golden hair flies about in the wind, along with dress, under which Thorongil notices with amazement and amusement a small pair of bare feet. It is when the child is only a few feet from him that his guess is proven correct. He is surprised she appears unaccompanied. A frown settles on his face as he watches her sniff and wipe her sleeve over her eyes. He hesitates a moment and then speaks when she is about to go past him. 

“Little Éowyn?” he calls softly. 

The child stops and looks up at him. Her face remains blank as she examines his face. Perhaps she does not remember him. It has been over a year since he was last here. But the girl’s eyes widen in wonder. 

“Thorongil!” she exclaims with a hint of questioning. 

His answering smile is all the confirmation she needs. Her sadness forgotten for the moment, she reaches her arms out and is swung into the man’s welcoming hug. Peals of delightful giggles escape Éowyn as Thorongil swings them around several times. She buries her hands in his dark locks when he simply holds her tightly for a moment. She pulls away to look at her friend and tugs playfully on his beard. 

“It is longer,” she comments, meeting Thorongil’s twinkling eyes. “I missed you.” 

“And I missed you,” he says. 

He is rewarded with a grin. He sets her back down on the ground. 

“What will your nurse say when she discovers you are going about barefooted?” he wonders with a shake of his head. 

“I did not feel like wearing my slippers,” Éowyn explains. 

“I see,” Thorongil nods. “And where are you off to? You are not hiding from your nurse again?” 

Reminded of the conversation she had with Éomer and Théodred causes Éowyn’s face to darken once more and she sighs. “No. I am leaving Rohan.” 

Not expecting that answer, Thorongil’s eyebrows rise. “All by yourself? Without any provisions or escorts?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she nods firmly and starts walking again down the road. 

Thorongil watches her retreating back. He wonders if anyone knows she is out here. He turns his horse around and follows her. “May I come with you, my Lady?” 

“Certainly!” she answers after a moment. 

Quickly he catches up to her and silently walks beside her. He is surprised when they reach the huge open gates of the city and Éowyn walks through them, leaving Edoras. He sees she is quite serious about leaving. 

He notices that her walking has slowed and she is limping slightly. His focus centers on her bare feet, now a dirty brown color. It was a long walk from the Golden Hall to actually leaving the city. And the loose stones the child tread over probably added to her feet’s soreness. He is amazed when she gives no sign of halting for a rest but determinedly walks on with her head held high. The child is so young, yet already full of strong will and spirit. 

“Little Éowyn!” he at last breaks the long companionable silence. 

The child halts and looks back at him inquiringly. 

“We have gone a long way. Perhaps we should rest a little to keep up our strength,” he suggests, rubbing the neck of his horse. 

At first he is sure she will refuse and insist they move on, but instead she agrees. Thorongil notices the winces she attempts to hide as she walks back to him. Letting his horse roam, he meets Éowyn and scoops her up in his arms. Settling both of them on the ground, he takes a little foot in each of his hands and gently massages them. The pressure he applies to the sore soles causes Éowyn to bite her lip, but soon she relaxes against him as the aches slowly leave her feet. 

Glancing up at the sky, Thorongil notes it will be evening soon. No doubt Éowyn’s absence has now been noticed and perhaps there is already a search party out looking for her. 

“Why are you leaving Rohan?” he asks softly. 

“Because Éomer and Théodred said I will not be allowed to learn to sword fight when I’m older, for I am part of the royal family. And they said the knights would mock me for fighting, that I would always lose at a duel. I have never been able to beat my brother or my cousin when they have duels with logs. So I am going to another country where they will let me fight, and they would be proud of me.” 

Thorongil nods, beginning to understand. 

“Are there any women in Rohan who know how to sword fight?” Éowyn looks up hopefully at Thorongil. 

“Yes, there are some,” he answers slowly, “but not many.” 

Éowyn claps her hands in delight. “They wish to be able to defend their country?” Thorongil nods. “That is why I want to use a sword,” she says firmly. “Are they mocked for having such skill?” 

“Some believe their place is to tend to their family and take care of the house, not fight like a warrior.” He places a calming, reassuring hand over hers as he senses her objections rise. “But,” he goes on, “there are some who respect those few ladies who can wield a sword, who willing would go to battle for their country. Shieldmaidens they are called.” 

“Shieldmaidens,” Éowyn tries out the name. 

Thorongil watches her thoughtfully. He has fought many wars in his time. Many brave soldiers have sought valor and glory on the field while the fight is long, tiring, and terrible. Some are overwhelmed by the cries, the blood, the foul air. Their hearts fill with terror. They sometimes flee; sometimes they cannot bring themselves to strike the fatal blow; sometimes they cannot defend themselves quickly enough and fall by the sword. 

As Éowyn settles herself more comfortably against him, he wonders if she should someday hold a sword in her hands if she would have to face the horrors of war. He senses she will not fail in her desire to learn – she will become a shieldmaiden someday. She will develop strength, eventually winning duels. He believes she will win the respect of the soldiers, even those who do not think it is her place to be a shiedmaiden. 

Thorongil frowns, deciding whether to share something or not. He takes a chance. “Prince Théodred’s mother, Elfhild, was a shieldmaiden.” 

“Was she?” The child’s face is as bright as the sun as she smiles. “Why did she become one? Did she take part in any battles? Was she respected by her people?” 

“I could not say. You would probably be able to find out from your mother or uncle,” he suggests. 

Éowyn nods. “Do you think it is silly of me to want to be a shieldmaiden?” she asks worriedly. 

“No, I do not think you are,” her friend answers sincerely. 

Glancing up towards the sky alight with bright, brilliant colors from the setting sun, Thorongil is about to suggest they head back when Éowyn’s stomach growls. Eyes dancing with amusement, he tickles Éowyn, who giggles. 

“Are you hungry, little Éowyn?” At her affirming nod, he adds, “We did not pack any food with us, I’m afraid.” 

“Perhaps…if we go back now we will not miss dinner,” Éowyn wonders. 

Thorongil asks, “You will leave Rohan another time?” 

“No, I will become a shieldmaiden of Rohan. Then I will still be able to see my family,” the child decides. 

A sigh of relief escapes from the man, and he smiles. “Then we should start back immediately.” 

He sets Éowyn to her feet before he gets to his own. He gives a short shrilling whistle, and soon his horse returns to his side. Thorongil carefully seats the girl on the mare’s back and climbs on behind her. 

The return to the Golden Hall seems to fly by. He notices several soldiers who, on spotting him and Éowyn, quickly ride ahead of them to announce their arrival.   
As Meduseld looms before them as they near, Thorongil tilts his head to one side, hearing an unusual, far-off sound, which increases as they go on. He cocks an eyebrow when Éowyn turns to meet his questioning gaze. She answers in a knowing serious and apologetic tone: 

“Iris.” 

The man hides his smile behind his hand and nods solemnly. 

When Thorongil brings his horse to a halt before the Hall, there is a group to welcome them. Iris wails loudly at the sight of her charge safe and sound. Théodwyn, Éowyn’s mother, is dry-eyed, but looks no less relieved. Éomund hugs her, a smile breaking his concerned expression. The tenseness falls from Théoden’s shoulders. And Théodred and Éomer are racing down steps. They engulf Éowyn in a tight group hug when Thorongil lowers her down. 

He watches as the three children walk up the stairs to the adults. Éowyn’s hands are held in her protective brother’s and cousin’s grasps; all is forgiven and forgotten. 

THE END


End file.
